


I would walk five hundred miles, just to be the man standing at your door

by Fionakevin073



Series: Long Live All the Magic We Made [15]
Category: The Tudors (TV)
Genre: F/M, Historical Inaacuracy, Love, Separation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:44:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fionakevin073/pseuds/Fionakevin073
Summary: Where Henry makes a different choice.





	I would walk five hundred miles, just to be the man standing at your door

**Author's Note:**

> A/N This one shot was requested by MissKaylee, who asked for me to write more Anne/Charles about how Henry pardoned Charles. Not gonna lie, even though it hurt to kill Charles in you are my sweetest downfall, it was the most plausible conclusion to his and Anne's story. I hope you guys enjoy this one-shot, regardless of how impossible it seems. Thank you all for your support.
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> Fionakevin073

 

_I would walk five hundred miles just to be the man standing at your door— Sleepting at last, 500 miles_

There are many factors that lead to Henry's decision.

Granted, it is a rather selfish, dangerous decision that he knows a part of him will grow to regret. But he remembers Anne's eyes when she was in front of him, pleading for mercy for Char— _his_ son and despite what he had told her, Henry finds his resolve weakening. He remembers the familiarity _he_ has with his children, how their eyes brightened when he was in the room, how their voices were fond when they told Henry stories about their Uncle Charles.

There is jealousy inside of him, which Henry is not surprised to find but there is also fear and compassion. His children would hate him once they discovered that he had allowed their precious Uncle Charles to be killed. Maybe they would understand the pressures he was under once they were older, but they would despise him; maybe they would even refuse to see him.

The thought makes his insides churn and his heart break as he thinks about missing more time with them than he already has. Henry sits and thinks hard, the sky darkening as the hours slip by.

Anne's children are his heirs.

There is no doubt about that. It is a conclusion that Henry had known deep inside of him ever since Jane had died and he knew based on the not-so-subtle looks of his advisors that they had realised he would not have more children as well. He had four perfectly healthy sons and they were to be his heirs. He would have Parliament make a Succession Act, which would put George first in line and Elizabeth fifth in line and that would solve the succession issue and declare his and Anne's children legitimate.

His marriage to Anne on the other hand. . .

Henry cringes as he thinks about all the damage they had done to each other during those years together, when they had been married. He thinks about his tears and her begging him for mercy and the hatred he had felt— the anger and hurt that had consumed his heart so greatly he had wished her death. And while Henry may still love Anne—he suspects a part of him always did and always will—and is forever grateful for her to giving him his children, there is some part of him that knows how selfish it would be for him to ask her to be with him once more, after everything he had done.

Henry, for one of the first times in his life, does not know what to do.

—

He doesn't quite know how he finds himself standing in front of Charles the next day, but he finds he does not quite want to. His former friend is disheveled and covered in a thick layer of grime and he makes such a pitiful figure that a small part of Henry feels sorry for him.

"Why are you here?" Charles croaks, his voice rough, as though he had not used it in years.

Henry tries to stifle his nervousness as he shifts on his feet.

"For Anne."

Her name makes Charles's face react, his eyes widening as he stares up at him from his position on the floor. But beneath his surprise, there is a degree of concern and fear that makes Henry realise that he is scared that _he_ is going to hurt Anne because of Charles. The thought makes his fists tighten and anger form in his belly, but he forces himself to calm down. He isn't here to argue or to threaten.

Henry is here to understand.

To decide, once and for all.

"Do you love her?" he asks, the words instantly filling the room, making it harder for him to breathe.

Charles lowers his gaze to the floor.

"Yes."

The admission pains him slightly but it's not a surprise.

He had long since suspected the truth.

"I love her too. In what form I am not sure but I do love her." There is a pause before he allows himself to continue. "I could give her a happy life with our children. In time, our past sorrows will be forgiven and our love will grow anew. I know this with a certainty because a love like mine and Anne's will never fade— it may not be as passionate or as strong as it was initially but it will always be there, tugging at our hearts. But I suspect that regardless of this love we bare for each other who she really wants to grow old with is you."

Charles eyes him warily, waiting for him to finish.

"The country is calling for your head. Everyone is in favour of your death and I must admit, a part of me wishes that too."

Henry inhales and exhales and in that moment, he decides.

—

Anne is woken before first light by one of her handmaiden's telling her that the King has requested a private audience with her at once. She barely manages to put herself together before making her way to his chambers, confusion and fear making her heart beat faster and her hands tremble at her side. When she finally arrives and looks Henry in the eyes, she is taken aback by the dark circles under his eyes and the hollow expression on his features.

"Your majesty what—"

_Charles._

_Charles._

Her eyes prick with tears at the sight of him and it is though her worst nightmares have come to life. His face seems thinner and his eyes weaker but there are no signs of visible injuries that she can see, and the relief she feels nearly makes her fall over.

"Charles Brandon is to be executed at first light this morning as a man guilty of treason." Anne's eyes jump to Henry's, the world around her growing faint. "Henry, what do you mean—"

The expression in his eyes makes her stop.

"He is to be smuggled in a disguise to various different locations throughout the realm, before being taken to Pembroke by the end of the year, after the dust has settled." Anne gasps quietly, a tear slipping down her cheek as she gazes at Henry. "I can't give you back the peace you managed to find over these past three years and I am sorry for that. Our children are to become the gossip of the world and will rule Kingdoms. That is our reality. You will probably have to become Queen again in order to ensure their future and legitimacy but that is something we will have the opportunity to discuss. The one thing I can give you is the assurance that he is safe and will live a quiet life at Pembroke whilst are children are moved into one of the royal residences of our choosing."

Anne's eyes move to Charles, who is standing there awkwardly, his eyes probing into hers as tears continuously stream down her cheeks. A sob escapes her throat and before she knows it they're barreling into each other, their arms wrapping around each other so tightly Anne can barely breathe. "You'll be alright," she whispers, burying her face into his chest. "You'll live, Charles. You'll live." He kisses her forehead and tightens his grip, too nervous to speak.

"He has to go now, before anyone notices." Henry's voice is like a bucket of cold water being thrown over her and she retracts from Charles's embrace, though her hands still cling to his. "Go now." Anne turns to look at Charles, a million things she wishes to say on her lips but unable to say all of them. "I love you," he tells her, kissing her hands fervently. "I love you."

He leaves with a guard moments later, dressed in shabby clothes and a long cloak so as to disguise himself. Anne stares at the empty space where he was, wondering whether or not it had all been a dream. She lifts her fingers to her lips, her eyes wet from tears as she turns to look at Henry. "Thank you, " she tells him, the words precious. "I don't know how to thank you." She moves closer to him, her heart lodged in her throat as she meets his watery gaze. "I'm so sorry Anne," he tells her, "I'm so so sorry I couldn't give you more."

Anne shakes her head and smiles, hugging him tightly.

"Could you have ever loved me like before?" Henry asks her after a while. There's a hint of certainty in his voice, like he already knows the answer but is still partially unsure.

It is moments like these that make it easy for her to answer truthfully.

"I never really stopped."

—

It takes years for them to reunite.

Years of waiting.

Years filled with loss and heartache.

But when Anne returns to Pembroke after her son's coronation, she is not surprised to see a single man standing at the entrance, waiting with open arms.

And later, when they are together at night, he whispers into her hair.

"I would have walked five hundred miles to be here, Anne."

_I would have walked five hundred more,_ she thinks dreamily, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep. 

\-- 

End.


End file.
